


the seat by the window

by nowrunalong



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 17:14:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3298076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowrunalong/pseuds/nowrunalong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>obligatory coffee shop au. set in pete's world, post-doomsday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the seat by the window

The coffee shop was always quiet when Clara came around at 9 PM, so she usually got to pick any seat she liked. And she liked the seat by the window. _Her_ seat by the window.

It was a pretty airy space, with two of the four walls comprised mainly of windows. Most of them were arranged in a small conglomeration along the west side. The door to the cafe was in the corner where the north and west sides met, separating the two windowed walls. 

Clara liked to be against the north wall. There were only two seats there and they sat on either side of a small table. Other people avoided it because, as it was beside the door, it was a little breezy. Clara didn’t mind. Since it was separated from the rest of the seating it was the quietest spot in the shop. She would come in, unload the tests or papers she needed to grade onto the table, dump her bag on one seat, then collapse into the one opposite with a cup of tea. It had been her evening routine since she’d moved into the area.

So she was surprised to find that, one January morning, someone else was already occupying her spot.

The girl looked around twenty and had dyed blonde hair that hadn’t been retouched in a few months, judging by her dark roots. She was reading a book; Clara couldn’t tell which. Her backpack was by her feet, tea on the table in front of her. The seat across from her was empty.

Clara felt a twang of bitterness as she paid for her Earl Grey and sat down against the west window.

At least, she decided, today was probably a fluke. Tomorrow she could resume her regular routine.

— 

The next day, the blonde was reading in her seat again. She didn’t look up when Clara came in.

Someone else was sitting in the seat she’d used as a substitute the day before, too. Grumbling to herself, Clara sat down in the booth on the south wall.

The booth was even nicer than her usual seat, but it was usually occupied. Not a good replacement spot.

When the blonde packed up to leave, Clara thought momentarily about moving before decided she was being silly.

— 

The same thing happened on Thursday. As she sat against the west wall, Clara wondered if she should start coming by earlier.

—

On Friday the blonde didn’t show.

—

As it turned out, she didn’t come by on Fridays or Saturdays. The weeks rolled on and a pattern began to develop. 

Clara would come by the cafe at 9 PM every day of the week. The blonde girl came by every day except for Friday and Saturday. Whoever got there first would claim the seats by the north window, and Clara would sit there by default when the blonde wasn’t around.

—

One Sunday in late February, the blonde girl left the shop at 9:30. She left a little earlier on Monday, and a little earlier than that on Tuesday. She was going out when Clara came in on Wednesday. On Thursday, Clara didn’t see her at all.

Each day, the circles under the blonde’s eyes got a little bit darker.

—

When she didn’t come back the next week, Clara found that she was thinking a lot about the other woman. The blonde rarely looked around, never made eye contact with anyone. She always sat hunched over, as if the world had defeated her.

All bitterness over the seats had evaporated by now.

Clara was worried about her.

—

The week after that, the blonde was sitting against the north window. She’d placed her backpack near her feet again, like she always did, leaving the seat across from her empty. She was reading a book with a red cover today. _Hamlet_ , Clara noticed as she paid for her tea.

“I love Hamlet,” she told the other woman, sitting down in the seat opposite her. “Except for the part where everyone dies. Well, even that part. Fantastic story.”

The blonde looked up slowly, fixing her eyes on Clara as if seeing her for the first time. Maybe she was. Clara hoped not, or she’d really have cause to worry.

“It’s OK,” she answered slowly. “Jus’… I’m havin’ a bit of a hard time understandin' some parts. Are you jus’ sittin' here because you like this spot?”

“I do like this spot,” Clara admitted, “but I sat here because I wanted to talk to you. You seem like you need someone to talk to.”

The blonde narrowed her eyes.

“I don’t even know you.”

“I’m Clara,” Clara said lightly. "I’m a teacher at Coal Hill. It’s my job to worry about students all day. Even outside of class. Even students who aren’t my students.”

It seemed for a second as if she was going to be ignored.

“I’m Rose,” the blonde said finally. “But I’m not talkin' to you. You’d never understand, anyways.”

“I could try."

Rose gave her a tired look and buried her nose back into her play.

— 

The next few days passed as they usually did. Clara and Rose didn’t speak again.

—

The Wednesday after Clara had sat down across from Rose, the blonde was sitting by the north window again. At 10:30 PM, she packed up her things and, instead of leaving, as Clara had expected, came to sit across from her in the booth. She inspected the papers Clara had stacked in from of her.

“Hamlet,” she remarked.

“Yep.”

The blonde bit her lip before speaking again. “I wondered if you might be able to help me with it—if you’re not too busy,” she added.

“What are you needing help with?”

“The language, mostly. Even with the notes at the side, I don’t really get it.”

“Oh, it’s so great. You’re going to love it. Alright, show me a passage you’re not understanding and I’ll try to help you out.”

— 

Within the next couple of days, Clara and Rose had taken to sitting together in the seats by the north window. Clara would help Rose with her studying in between marking papers while attempting to glean any information she could about the girl.

Rose was always careful not to say too much, but Clara had learned a few things about her. She hadn’t been here very long: maybe a few months. She lived with her mother and someone called “Pete”; Clara wasn’t sure of his relation to her. Perhaps he was her stepfather. She also had a little brother named Tony, whom she adored.

She never, ever, mentioned anything that had happened before her arrival in London.

Clara still worried about her.

— 

One rainy Thursday night, Clara was surprised when Rose started talking.

“I lost someone,” she told the brunette. She didn’t meet Clara’s eye as she rolled her pen around on the table in front of her. “I lost… my whole world, actually. I can’t explain it to you without soundin' mad. Mum didn’t know what to do to distract me, so she suggested I go back to school. I never finished properly the first time around. I’ve been workin’ hard, but school was never that easy for me. And it’s even harder this time, knowin’ I’ll… I’ll never see him again.”

“I’m sorry.”

Rose nodded. 

“I thought I could get back to him. So Mum and Pete and my friend Mickey and I… we drove to where we thought he would be. And he was there. But… I can never see him again, Clara. This probably isn’t makin’ sense, I’m sorry. I jus’… I’m not sure how I’m supposed to move on knowin’ I’ll never forget him.”

—

The next day, Rose told Clara a bit more about the man she’d lost. He’d been a traveller, and she’d travelled with him. They’d seen a lot of places. Clara asked where they’d been, but Rose was oddly vague in her reply.

“Here ‘n’ there. America. You know. All over.”

Clara didn’t know, but she didn’t want to press the blonde for more details. She was just happy Rose trusted her enough to talk to her at all. 

She placed her hand over the other girl’s.

“Moving on… it’ll be hard. But there’s always someone else."

—

They got talking more about this and that and less about work and school. Clara learned how Rose took her tea. She learned that Rose dreamed of travelling again, when she felt better. She learned the way she smiled when she was genuinely happy—which was, gradually, more and more often—, and the way her tongue poked out from between her teeth in such a charming way that Clara could never stop herself from smiling back. 

—

One Thursday night Clara bought two teas when she came in, fixing up Rose’s the way she liked and placing them both on the table between their two seats. When Rose arrived a few minutes later, Clara was greeted with that smile she’d already grown to love.

—

Rose only had a couple friends in the area—Mickey and Jake. It was tough with no girls to talk to, she told Clara. For the most part, guys just didn’t understand how she felt, although Mickey tried.

Really, she needed another friend, and Clara was happy to be it.

The two began to visit other places together. Movie theatres. Museums. Tourist attractions. Clara’s place for tea (during which Clara learned that Rose wasn’t any better at baking than she was). Their favourite thing to do, however, was to sit in the coffee shop and talk about all the places in the world they wanted to see.

—

“So, you had your eye on anyone, after Mickey?”

Rose hummed and gave her a cheeky grin before turning the page of _Twelfth Night_. With Clara’s help and enthusiasm, she’d really come to enjoy Shakespeare.

“Maybe.”

—

The week after that, Clara asked Rose out for dinner.

—

Neither of them drove, so they waited at the stop outside the coffee shop together. It was several minutes before the bus came. During that time, Rose took Clara’s hand in her. Clara squeezed her fingers gently.

Behind them, a young couple sat down in _their_ spot in the coffee shop.

But it wasn’t their spot anymore. Not really.

There was no sense getting hung over one spot, Clara thought. There were too many places to be, and she was going to see them all.

—

Still, when they got on the train for their first trip together, Rose stopped in the aisle and allowed Clara to sit down first, gesturing grandly.

“I believe the seat by the window is yours, m’lady.”

—

They took turns sitting in the window seat, and in every city they visited, they made sure to stop by a coffee shop. 

They didn’t mind where they sat as long as they were together.


End file.
